


The Ghosts of You

by SniperMoran



Series: Some Nights [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, BarkingMadStar, Ghosts, Madness, The Ghost of You - MCR, mentions of previous child abuse, subtle mentions of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 04:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13539984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SniperMoran/pseuds/SniperMoran
Summary: After the events of October 31st, 1981 and the subsequent 'murder' of 12 muggles and 1 rat, Sirius is rotting away in prison.Needless to say, he's losing himself, losing his mind.Silence is all consuming and madness seeps into the cracks.Some nights he can hide away in the furry warmth of his Animagus form.Some nights he can escape from the all-consuming self-loathing.Some nights are better than others.(Updated April 18, 2018)





	The Ghosts of You

**Author's Note:**

> "Black dog howling in the dead of night || Take these broken legs and learn to run || 12 years long || You were only waiting for this moment to be free || Black dog run--"

Everything was over in a flash, but the events played over and over in Sirius' mind, wondering where he'd went wrong.

 

-  
James.  
Dead.  
Lily.  
Dead.  
Harry, alone and crying.  
Hagrid, taking Harry away.  
Giving up Bonnie so Hagrid could bring Harry to safety as quickly as possible.  
He wouldn't need his bike anymore, anyway.  
Not where he was going.

Pettigrew.  
The street where 12 innocents meander around, no one suspecting a thing as the two wizards face each other.  
An argument.  
A half-hearted disarming spell.  
An explosion.  
Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead.  
Finger.

It all comes back in flashes, always in bits and pieces one right after the other.  
In the silence of his cell, it's all he can think about sometimes.

 

-  
In Azkaban, there are two moods: deafening silence, and agonizing screaming.  
He prefers the screaming.  
At least then they aren't there, staring at him, disapproving as they do.

 

Minutes. Hours. Days. Probably years.  
He’d stopped counting. Stopped caring to.  
But it all passed him by.

It was his fault, anyway.  
He deserved to be here, even if not for the crimes that were pinned on him. He deserved to be here because they were just as good as being his crimes. If he hadn’t suggested that the rat be the Secret Keeper, then James and Lily—

/Because of you, my child is out there living with a family that hates what he is and who he comes from. He doesn’t know the love he should. He doesn’t know the family he should! They treat him like your kind treat House Elves!/ Lily’s ghostly gaze bore into him even as he curled in on himself, soft whimpers leaving his scrunched up form.  
“I’m sorry….I’m sorry, I tried….I tried….” he sobbed into his hands, his body trembling with the wails that wracked his whole form, now small and frail. Broken.

/I trusted your judgment, Padfoot… I thought you’d never lead me astray. Why’d you entrust us to him? You once told me you’d die for me…so why didn’t you? Why aren’t you the one that’s dead? It should have been you./  
“I never thought….he was our brother…I thought I would still die for you, that they’d still think it was me, that they’d come for me! …but he ran straight to them, straight to them with you. With Lily. With…with Harry… James, please…please I—“

/Do you hear me howling for you, Padfoot?/  
“…Remus…”  
/When the moon rises, I call for you and Prongs, but you never answer anymore./  
“No, please…please don’t…”  
/How do I keep surviving the moons without the two people I trusted to keep me sane for them?/  
“Moony…Remus, I would never—I didn’t—please, I’m…I’m sorry…I’m so sorry so sorry so sorry….” he curled into himself again, holding his head as he curled into the corner of his cell, the coldness of the stone behind and beneath him the only thing grounding him.  
He banged his head against the wall and let out a blood curdling scream as he pulled at his own hair, tears streaking through the dirt that stained his face.

All of it was his fault.  
His fault that Harry would grow up without knowing his parents, without knowing the love and care that his parents would have given him. His fault that his godson was suffering. His fault that James and Lily were gone. His fault that Remus was alone and suffering through the full moons. His fault that Moony was alone and confused, looking for his pack that would never return.  
His fault.

All  
his  
fault.

 

\--  
On nights when the pain was too much, and the ghosts just wouldn't leave him be, he would curl into a ball as Padfoot and whine softly until sleep would take him over.  
It was his only escape, and it barely ever lasted.  
They visited in his sleep, just the same.  
The ghosts with disapproving and hateful eyes became nightmares of dismembered bodies and blood, cloudy eyes and pale skin, a crying baby, a sad howl ringing through the night.  
...and he would wake up, a sad mirrored howl falling from him before someone would shout and scream at him to 'shut up shut up SHUTUP!!'  
The howl would die away, the ghosts would return, blaming him and screaming at him. Shouting and crying, screaming and flailing. Bleeding.

He would tear into his skin, tear into it just so that he could gain a moment of clarity as he watched his own blood flowing away from him. It was entrancing and sometimes he thought it would just be easier to let it all go and collapse to the floor.  
He would rot away in the cell anyway, why should he have to breathe to rot?  
It would happen either way, without fail.

...but then the eyes would soften, the voices would soothe and the ghosts would smile that gentle thing. Whisper to him that he was alright here, that he was safe and he was meant to be alive. It wasn't his time, not yet, not just yet.  
It would come and when it did they'd be there. They'd be there waiting just the other side of the veil that separated them.  
He never understood, but he would always comply.  
It wouldn't do to make them any more angry with him.

Sitting in his cell, with his knees pulled up to his chest, he stared through the small barred window. He could see the stars through it, when the sky was clear of clouds and the shrouds of black that were the guardians of this place. Sometimes, he could even see the moon, too. It was painful to look at, but he could hardly help himself. The pain that he felt when he looked was deserved.

He deserved this. Deserved the suffering in all its different aspects.  
Deserved the screams and the names, deserved the cold and the pain, deserved the guilt and the rotting. Deserved the empty feeling that somehow filled him to the brim.  
He'd done the most awful of all things possible, and this was his penance for every wrongdoing he'd ever done.

Amongst the flashes of his friends, came flashes of another part of his past, of times long gone.  
These flashes were much the same as the others he experienced, however.  
Filled with screams, pain, and blood.  
His mother with her wand, his mother with anything she could get her hands on.  
The scars that covered his body but would never be seen, hidden away beneath his clothes so no one was the wiser of his situation.  
This was how all families were, wasn't it?  
That's what he thought, back then. That's what he thought life was like. The norm.  
Pain inflicted for simple misdeeds.  
Blood drawn for misconduct.  
Scars lingering for treacherous ways.

James was his salvation. Lily was his angel. Remus, his guiding light.  
Through their love and care, he'd been saved from a life he hadn't known was slowly killing him.  
...and now, years later, and he was the reason for their deaths, his suffering.  
No punishment was strong enough for what he'd done this time.

-  
The silence could consume a person whole, if it wanted.  
The screams in the night would shatter mirrors if there were any.  
The coldness that settled into ones bones was inescapable as the embodiment of fear stalked the halls and the walls and the air.  
This was his home, now. This was his hell.  
The rat was dead, there was no one else to blame. No revenge to be taken, no saving to be done for his name.

What was the point, anyway? What good would it do?

-  
When the Prophet came, however, some 12 years after his first arriving, and he looked down on his cousins smiling up at him from the front, a vacation in Egypt, only one thing stood out to him.  
Only one.  
Rat.  
A rat missing a toe, in particular.

-  
A new cold filled his chest, quickly followed by the burning heat of a rage he hadn't felt in years. Tears burned in his eyes as he burned the image into his mind, thoughts flooding him and floating around.  
The ghosts were silent as they watched, curious empty gazes waiting for his next move, waiting for the break, the scream, anything.

Laughter.  
A sort of barking laughter.  
He laughed and laughed until his sides hurt and tears fell through the dirt on his cheeks leaving streaks of clean behind. He laughed until he sounded hoarse and insane, mad and broken.  
He had something to live for, now. Something to strive for, someone to kill other than himself.  
It was a nice change of pace.

-  
Time passed and tests were played out until it was time, and he fled on all fours, tail swinging behind him, tongue hanging from his mouth as the wind ruffled his black fur.  
The hard part had been escaping.  
The harder part was yet to come...

The world thought he was the murderer, the betrayer.  
He would, however, become one of those after he was through with that rat.  
Only one, and then he could be done. He could join the ghosts with their hateful eyes and their screams, just as they said he would.  
...and he would finally have peace in his silence.

**Author's Note:**

> James is not dead.  
> Lily is not dead.  
> Peter Pettigrew who? You mean Peppa Pettingzoo?  
> Remus and Sirius are Harry's gay uncles that live next door to the very much alive James and Lily and their happy son Harry.
> 
> I will stay bundled up in my blanket of denial forever and no one can stop me.


End file.
